


tell your story ( it is not true, nor is it false )

by Niahara_Erskine



Series: Tales from the Primordial Soup [4]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is doneTM, Bit of Drama, Crack, Crowley is a liar, Crowley makes poor life choices, Fluff, M/M, No one is surprised about that, No one messes with Zirah's books, The Arrangement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-04 01:21:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13353525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niahara_Erskine/pseuds/Niahara_Erskine
Summary: If you ask Crowley when the Arrangement was sealed, he will mutter something inaudible, shuffle his feet, advert his eyes and snap that it was at some point during the 1000s, who can ever remember. If you ask Aziraphale, he will answer primly while drinking his tea and state that the Arrangement was sealed in 1020 AD, at precisely 12 o'clock, Paris time, because he is a bastard like that.





	tell your story ( it is not true, nor is it false )

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DeyaniraSan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeyaniraSan/gifts).



> Weeeeeeeeell you guys can thank ( or blame ) Deyanirasan for this fic, because I was definitely not planning on writing it. It makes a small mention towards out co-written fic, Cerise Fraction of Our Shared Past, but you don't have to have read it to read this fic. All you need to know is that there are more angels and demons running willy nilly across Earth, not just our two favorite dorks, and one of the demons happens to be Lucifer's protegee.

If you ask Crowley when the Arrangement was sealed, he will mutter something inaudible, shuffle his feet, advert his eyes and snap that it was at some point during the 1000s, who can ever remember. If you ask Aziraphale, he will answer primly while drinking his tea and state that the Arrangement was sealed in 1020 AD, at precisely 12 o'clock, Paris time, because he is a bastard like that.

That is not to say Crowley himself does not remember; he'd just rather not to. After all he is loath to admit the whole thing came to fruition because of those two feathered idiots. Ummmm... no one heard him thinking that right?

Regardless, a demon remembers his debts and Crowley knows all too well what he owes to a pair of certain angelic beings - on both sides of the fence - even if their contribution had been minimal at best, if anything more a lesson in kids let's not do this at home, than anything else.

It served well enough to convince his angel, though. Without them, perhaps he would not be lounging in a quaint little bookstore in Soho, drinking a glass of wine, while Aziraphale is reading a book in his lap. Or perhaps he would have found another way to convince the angel. Even so, he cannot deny many of the events that came after the Arrangement were weathered with more ease between the two of them, than they would have been had the remained with their feet firmly planted on opposing Sides.

But we digress...

The main gist of the idea remains. It was the year 1020, a few decades before the Great Schism painted Aziraphale's wings red and made the demon fear for him for the very first time, even more decades before the First Crusade tore through Jerusalem and left them both kneeling in a river of blood, utterly defeated and disgusted with both of their Sides.

It was 1020 AD, a year as utterly boring as many that came before it and for the first time in several centuries, Crowley found himself fighting for his life - or rather to refrain from being discorporated - yet again. He couldn't remember what it had been that sparked that particular fight, but Aziraphale was as vicious as he was mesmerizing, wielding an Anglo-Saxon sword that came close to drawing blood one too many times .

_ ( 'You are such a liar, my dear,' the angel smiles benevolently as he puts his book away, blue eyes peering in golden, serpentine ones, making the fallen angel fluster and blush. 'You remember all too well what that little mishap was about.' And well, perhaps Crowley might remember, but he will in no way admit to stealing Aziraphale's first copy of the Bible merely because he missed the angel's company. That would be ludicrous. ) _

In hindsight, perhaps it had not been the most auspicious of ideas to engage the angel in battle while wielding nothing but a fallen oaken branch, but it wasn't as if Crowley had had much time to plan things over, before a vengeful angel came a-smiting.

It proved even worse of a plan when the branch flew from his grasp and he found himself pinned to one of the pillars in Stonehenge, the angel's blade pressing in his neck.

"Look, angel, perhaps we can talk this over?" he gasped, his wits scrambling to find an escape from the situation, relying on words now that weapons were out of the discussion.

"Can we now, Crowley?" Aziraphale asked sharply and the use of his name cut more firmly through the demon than he might have expected, used to the random occurrences of being called 'my dear' that seemed to become more frequent as each decade passed.

"Stop being melodramatic, Aziraphale, it does not suit you," the serpent of Eden snapped, his nerved fraying, the presence of the blade unsettling - he desperately wished to avoid going Down Below for another corporation - and yet not as threatening as it might have been. "You know all too well I would not dare harm your precious books. I merely needed a reason to drag you away from that dusty, dreary, Scottish monastery you huddled yourself in."

"You know better than to mess with my books regardless, my dear," the angel pointed serenely, eyes flashing with grace as he beheld his demonic counterpart. The blade slid gently across the demon's skin, a mere imprint of steel on flesh, drawing but a trickle of blood before returning to its sheath in a fluid movement. Crowley sagged, knees buckling beneath him and serpentine eyes glowering at the other with just the tiniest hint of appreciation. Heav-Hel-Someone knew the angel could be more of a bastard than many demons when he put his mind to it.

"What did you wish to talk to me about," Aziraphale finally asked, features schooled in a most pleasant mien, regardless of the dirt staining them, of the bruises on his hands and the demon kneeling on the ground at his feet.

"This thing we're doing, it's pointless. A pair of winged feathered idiots battering themselves from here to kingdom come is more than enough for this Earth and those two nabbed the spots long before us. I mean look it's bad for business. Volcanoes erupt. The ocean tide rises. Atlantis back in yonder days? All they fault. Sure if it had been just you and me, things would have been different. But with those two around? More often than not we risk getting caught in their mess and I don't know about you, but I'd rather steer clear of Lucifer's favorite," Crowley explained, the rapid barrage of words enough to make Aziraphale raise his eyebrows in surprise, a thoughtful look flashing in his gaze.  "How about we go about things more sensibly? You know with more wine and less smiting."

"So what do you propose?"

"An Arrangement. Capital letter included but not really needed. I do my job, you do your job, we keep the scales balanced. Neither wins, neither loses, and our Bosses praise us for the great strides we are making in fighting a cunning and well-informed adversary."

"The idea has potential. I will have to, of course think upon it. Let us meet in a week's time to discuss matters at length. And do pick a better spot, my dear, this one reeks of pagan magic."

A week later the Arrangement was signed and sealed. And indeed, it proved to involved more wine and less smiting. And well, other activities of pleasurable nature that developed over time.

 


End file.
